A New Morning
by A Witness
Summary: Angel and Cordelia are experiencing the aftershock of Doyle’s death. The ending is filled with MY hopes, not to be mistaken for fact or future events of ANGEL!!! Please R&R!


DISCLAIMER: ANGEL and all contents (characters, scenes, plot and/or developments, etc.) and/or aspects of ANGEL which may appear in, have inspired or relate to this fiction are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, the WB, 20th Century Fox Television, Mutant Enemy Inc, Greenwolf Co., Kuzui Enterprises, and Sandollar Television, as well as any other parties unintentionally unnamed. NO INFRINGEMENT IS INTENDED. The author does not claim any ownership of "ANGEL"  
in any form and/or part. PLEASE DON'T SUE!   
WHEN?: I can't get over it...Directly A.D. (After Doyle), beginning of Parting Gifts.  
RATED: PG   
WARNING: I'm into crying fics, and this is ... melancholy? I welcome FEEDBACK.  
NOTE: I know that you've seen a million of these all over the Internet, and those denial sites dedicated to Angel's Half-Demon, Doyle, but, despite the whole year, I'm not over it. Here goes.  
SUMMARY: Angel and Cordelia are experiencing the aftershock of Doyle's death. The ending is filled with MY hopes, not to be mistaken for fact or future events of ANGEL!!!  
  
A NEW MORNING  
by A Witness  
  
The sun wasn't up yet. Having watched the video-taped attempt at a commercial just hours ago with Angel, and then, at home, she hadn't caught a wink of sleep. She could barely think: shock had overwhelmed her system, embracing her in a melancholy grip that wouldn't let go. Doyle had kissed her, holding her, and changed right before her eyes before he jumped. And she meant changed. She remembered that face still, and she had been speechless at the sight of the blue green skin crowded with spikes that roared to life as he had changed. Somehow, she wasn't afraid. It was Doyle. She knew it, and she didn't care about the blue-green monster before her. She cared about Doyle.  
  
But now, Doyle was gone.  
  
Cordelia shuddered as she recalled his leap onto the Beacon. How he'd turned back to give her and Angel one last smile. One last smile of...understanding? Realization that this was his fate? Knowing that he would die. Knowing that they knew, perhaps, and showing them he was going to...die.   
  
She stood, stiff and tired, before her apartment, hearing nothing but the wind. His smell was still there, his gentle grip as he'd kissed her...It was something he had never done before. And would never have another chance to do. Thinking back, she could barely remember if he'd touched her before that time. It was ridiculous. Of course he had...right?   
  
She hadn't given him a chance! No wonder he was afraid to tell her...tears watered Cordelia's hazy eyes as she sat again, afraid that if she didn't think about him, his face - his human face - would disappear. And yet knowing that if she thought about him, her tears would wash that face away. Dennis floated a tissue box to her side, pulling one out and giving it to her. "Thanks," she said, more so that she would gain a sense of comfort and reality from the sound of her voice than to thank Phantom Dennis. It didn't work: it sounded harsh and grating, unreal and ripped and it brought her nothing but size to the lump in her throat. His screams were more vivid than hers. She'd been too shocked to really cry earlier, but now, tears coursed down ther tired face freely, as harsh realization set in. She lay on the sofa, barely managing to breathe and for a moment, not caring. It wasn't fair. He was gone, for her.   
He had revealed everything, done everything, asked her out, and then...it was never going to happen. Because he had left, never to come home again. She hadn't had a chance to really love him. To kiss him back. To hold him longer. And she never would.   
  
Her eyes closed. Dennis brought her the blanket for her room and draped it around her shoulders. She wasn't asleep. She wouldn't sleep that night. Just hear him over and over, feel herself in his arms as he gave her their only kiss. She'd never get a chance to tell him she loved him. Because she did. Somehow, she did. Was it always like that, after someone died and you realized they weren't going to walk through your door ever again? She didn't want to think like that. That she didn't care about the demon inside. She'd never had a chance to answer his final words, a question. She could think about nothing else for the solitary, lonely hours before the new morning. A morning without Doyle.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Angel had been walking. He'd dropped Cordelia off, giving her the tape so she wouldn't have to ask. There were hours before morning, and he spent them, just pacing the streets. His jaw still hurt, he thought, even as he knew it was only his imagination. Vampires healed too quickly to feel something that had happened hours ago, something as simple as a demon's punch. Why had he thought that? He didn't know. To hold on to what Doyle was? To make sure he had been? He massaged the spot where Doyle's fist had made contact, walking and noticing the starless, endless sky. Dark and foreboding, not the pastel of a new morning. He should have been the one to jump and he should be the one that the light of the Beacon had painfully torn through. Not Doyle But it had been Doyle.   
  
Without realizing it, the ancient vampire had walked to the pier where, hardly hours before, the Quintessa had been docked, filled with hopeful Lister demons. It was on its way now, to the island, the last hope of escape from the Scourge. The Beacon was shredded metal, useless and destroyed in a flurry of rage. He remembered it, staring at the faded glow, holding Cordelia in a grip, each lending the other what strength they could just to stand.   
  
As he heard the waves crashing softly, destroying crests of a low moon, Angel heard Doyle's final words to him, his final moments, how he'd smiled, knowing this was it, his end. And somehow, he'd been proud facing it. Frightened, but knowing this was how he would pay back what he had to pay back. That his end was not in vain. Angel saw it all, and suddenly felt a little colder than he should. As he stared outward, he remembered everything from Doyle's first appearance in his apartment, to his last. "The good fight, yeah? How you never know 'til you've been tested? I get that now..."...guilt overwhelmed him. It shouldn't have been him.  
  
Angel walked away from the ocean, other memories also crowding his mind. Dawn wasn't too far away. But turning back time would have been useful. Angel hadn't seen it coming, the punch. If only he'd expected Doyle to do something like that...but he hadn't. It was shock that had helped to knock him over the rail, never thinking Doyle could do something...so courageous. And then, Angel laughed cruelly at himself. You would never have expected it. But if he could know right then....And then, he remembered a time when he could change everything.   
  
Angel stood before the pair of mystical Oracles, listening to them refuse his request.   
  
"You've done it before; it's in your power," Angel insisted.  
  
"What for?" Sister asked. "To nullify his noble death?"  
  
They argued, the idea flying back and forth until finally, Angel knew he couldn't win. He flew back to the Gate of the Lost Souls in the dirty alleyway. Meanwhile, the Oracles turned around slowly, beginning to walk down the endlessly long hallway lined with pillars. "Come, lower being. We must continue to Enlighten you," Brother said, not bothering to turn back, but waving a simple hand, instead. "Our time has been limited." Light beamed through the hallway and a dark-haired, crystal blue eyed half-demon stumbled out of a doorway, and jogged after the Twins, who walked completely syncrinized to the end room. He glanced back.  
  
"I'm not sure that I'll get used to the portal thingy and hiding and coming back...."  
  
"You will."   
  
~*~*~  
  
Cordelia knew when the new morning arrived. She had been awake for the entire night, and found herself exhausted. She half-hoped to walk into Angel Investigations and find Doyle there on the couch waiting, reading the morning paper and greeting her, commenting on whatever she was wearing like he usually had, noticing her shoes, or her hair, or her makeup, or her outfit, or....He hadn't left anything behind. Cordelia had been thinking about what he had had that would always remind her that he had existed. She got up and headed to the shower, where she wanted water to blend in with cried tears that couldn't come anymore.  
  
~*~  
  
Angel was alone in the shady darkness of his private office. He heard nothing but the clock ticking behind him and saw nothing but ink on paper, letters and words of a book he wasn't really reading, though he held the pages firmly in his hands and gazed at them intently. He could only think. Doyle's not coming into this office today. Tomorrow. Or ever. When he heard the office door open and then close, he shut his eyes in silent prayer for the impossible though he knew it was Cordelia. There was the sound of the cabinet being opened and rummaged through and he hoped it was really Doyle, though he knew it was Cordelia. He could hear her sorrow even through the sounds of cups being moved around. What is she doing? Angel stood. Life would go on - had to go on - without Doyle. But  
none of the three wanted it to. And they wouldn't want it to for a very long time. But for now, Angel had to be solitary, to give Cordelia strength. He appeared in the doorway, watching Cordelia study the mug in her hands.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked finally, but softly. Yes, life would go on. This was a new morning, Angel thought silently.  
  
~~  
  
Doyle studied the Telling Pool and its shimmering image as he stood between the Twins as they prepared him for what was to come. He had listened to his friends' thoughts. A new morning, Angel had thought.  
  
"A new morning, my eye," Alan Francis Doyle muttered.  
  
FIN 


End file.
